


Don't worry we'll both find out (Just not together)

by erintoknow



Series: Aria [18]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Transitioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 00:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19983208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: Everything's different after the Nanosurge, but you're still gay.





	Don't worry we'll both find out (Just not together)

**Author's Note:**

> [[How Simple by Hop Along]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QOZx5T1zDf0)

When Ortega calls for you, you’ve sprawled out across her couch, confirming that yes, even with a hundred channels there is still nothing on television worth watching. “Ari,” She yells from down the hallway, “some advice?”

Advice? From you? You roll off the couch and slink into Ortega’s room. The door’swide open and she’s standing in front of a full-length mirror staring at herself with a critical eye. “Everything–“ You frown. “Where’s your sling?” She’s supposed to let the arm in a cast rest in a sling while the grafts heal. You keep catching her trying to use it regardless.

Ortega makes a face at you in the mirror. “I’ll put it back on once I decide on an outfit, Relax, Ari.”

Your face heats up, you overstepped again. “What did you need help with?”

“What do you think of this? I’m trying to be casual, but not… you know, too casual. You know…” Ortega waggles a hand, “discreet.”

Jeans, an open red plaid shirt with a white undershirt… you have to laugh a little. “You look like a cartoon lumberjack.”

She huffs, “I do not!” Ortega plays with the buttons of the shirt, open or closed? Open or closed? “It’s just a nice look, don’t you think?”

“Ortega, you could make a paper bag look nice.”

She looks at you in the mirror again, raising her eyebrows. “Oh yeah? Should we test that?”

You can see your eyes widen in the mirror, face tinged red. “What? I–I– was just– no!” You absolutely did not need that mental image in your head, oh god.

Ortega laughs, and compromises by leaving the top two buttons undone. “I’ll leave that off the list then.”

“What– what about that necklace, that you, uh, just got?” She keeps collecting jewelry with every boyfriend but then never wears any. It drives you crazy. You’d cover yourself with the stuff every day if you thought you could get away with it.

“Oh!” Ortega pulls open a box that sits on her dresser, shifting through an unsorted collection of odds and ends. After a little digging she pulls out a corded necklace with a lightning bolt charm. Slipping it over her head she smiles at her reflection, “Good idea. Yeah, this’ll do. Thanks for the feedback, Ari.”

You give a weak smile, “S-sure, no problem…” You fidget with the hem of your blouse. She really didn’t need your advice, what do you know about women’s fashion? “What brought this on?”

Ortega rubs the back of her neck with one hand while half-assedly cleaning up some of the mess she’s left sprawled across the dresser and bed. “Oh, just thinking about other ways to get back on the beat quicker.”

You frown at that. “Don’t be so eager.”

“You’re one to talk.”

You a shoot a look at her as she moves towards the hallway. “And put that sling back on, Ortega!”

She makes a face at you.

You can’t help it, you crack up at the sight of it.

In the living room Ortega walks through to the kitchen to grab a beer and a stack of papers off the counter. More paperwork you assume. Another unspoken perk of staying vigilante: no paperwork to fill out. You find yourself drifting towards the window, peering through the blinds. That gaggle of reporters is _still_ milling around on the sidewalk. Why haven’t they given up yet?

It’s been over a week up here now. Ever since the Nanosurge everyone wants an interview with the supposed ‘Hero of Los Diablos.’ You’d think it was some kind of joke if it wasn’t keeping you trapped up here. You were a bonafide ‘hero’ now, chickadee. Congratulations. Was it everything you wanted?

“Sorry for stealing your couch for so long.”You kick at your backpack, propped up against said couch. Between that and your bag in the bathroom, that’s your entire life packed up. Not that Ortega knows, she assumes you’ve got your own place to go. You suppose you do. Though it’s not any more yours than Ortega’s apartment.

Ortega laughs. “Letting you crash here for a while is literally the least I can do.” She’s sitting on the couch, a beer in her hand.

You really shouldn’t be doing this. Every day is another unnecessary risk of being found out. Of making sure you’re up and taken care of long before Ortega wakes. You were never a sound sleeper anyway, but it’s starting to drain on you.

“Well, the next investment you can make on that debt is to put your arm back in that sling.” Have to yell at her every time, it’s not going to heal right at this rate. Ortega’s mother – ‘Tiá Elena,’ she insisted you call her, had to go back to her ranch yesterday, leaving it squarely on you to keep an eye on Ortega.

Tiá Elena had been… something alright. You weren’t quite prepared yet to sit down and figure out what. Or why you had cried when she walked through door and hugged you before you even had a chance to say anything.

Ortega makes a face. “I just escaped mamá being a terror, I don’t need you on my case about this too. It feels fine.”

You drop down on the couch next to her, brush the hair out of your face, it’s starting to get long again. You’ve been putting off the haircut. You punch her shoulder and she winces. “Don’t be an– an idiot, Sparkles.”

“Dios mio, not the nickname again…”

“ _Yes_ the nickname again.” You grin at her, flashing teeth.

“I should just kick you out so I can finally get some peace and quiet.”

The smile vanishes from your face. Did you push it too far? Misread the situation again? “I’m sorry.”

Ortega’s eyes widen at your reaction, “Oh no, no, you’re fine. I’m just joking.”

You relax, let go of the breath you’d been holding. “Good– good to know…” You glance at her, smile again, “ _Sparkles_.”

Ortega groans. “That is a gross mislabeling of my abilities.”

“Would ‘Sparky’ be better?”

She puts her bottle down on the coffee table with a solid thud for emphasis. “Absolutely not.”

“I think it’s cute.” You say, surprising yourself. You look away from her, face warm. “I– I– I mean, you know, that– that your mom calls you that too.”

“Mierda, between the two of you, I’m just doomed now, aren’t I?” You catch her smile at you from the corner of your eye. You face feels that much warmer.

“So!” You clap your hands together. “You– you said your boyfriend is taking you out to dinner tonight!?”

“Oh? Oh! Not out exactly, and I mean, he’s not my boyfriend.” Ortega reaches back with her good arm to rub her neck. “He’s not really my type, to be honest.

You tilt your head, trying to get a better read on her. Reticent _Ortega_? “Is everything okay?”

Ortega straightens her back and looks away from you as she laughs. “Yeah! Yeah everything’s fine. I’m looking forward to a bit of normalcy, after…” –almost dying?

You frown, leaning in a little. “Okay… if you say so.” Neither one of you has addressed what happened that night. Well. _You_ haven’t with anyone. Anathema had been pulling double duty on the Rangers, what with half the team on mandatory medical leave.

And Ortega... you can only assume had already talked to to her own group of friends. She knows so many people.

And that’s it. That’s all your friends accounted for.

“Are you okay?” Ortega is looking at you now. What does _that_ expression mean?

“I– well, yeah! Yeah, i’m fine.” You smile, rub at your nose.

“Ari, your hand–“

“Huh?” You look down at your hand, the smear of blood running down the back of your finger. “Shiii–sugar!” You climb over the back of the couch and rush to the bathroom, grabbing tissues on the way to shove up your nose. Ever since _that_ day you keep having these random nosebleeds _._ You’ve told Ortega it’s telepathy related, but frankly you haven’t the slightest clue. Lasting injury?

“Everything alright in there?” Ortega calls from the living room.

“Just another, ah– you know.” You wash the blood off, then tilt your head back, pinching the bridge of your nose. “God! I’m so sick of these.” You stare down your reflection in the mirror. Your hair is starting to reach your shoulders now, a wavy mess of red and brown that twists and curls on itself at the ends. The one part of your appearance you _don’t_ hate.

Honestly, you don’t know what you’d have done if you hadn’t been able to smuggle your toiletries and make-up in with you. Die, probably. Between the shaving and the make-up and the skin-care having a human face felt like more work then just putting on your Sidestep mask every day did. You eye your bag on the sink corner, should you touch anything up?

A pack of tampons stick awkwardly out the top of the bag. Ortega had insisted on giving you some when she ‘saw you were out.’

…Nice– nice girl, that Ortega…

There’s an electric buzzing noise and despite knowing it’s coming you flinch anyway. “That must be Lucas,” you hear Ortega call from the hallway. “Come say hi when you can!” You hear Ortega open the door and you let yourself slump a little. This is getting exhausting. Why are you still here? It’s not like you haven’t fled from the press before. You aren’t proud.

No, no, you’re just sticking around to keep an eye on Ortega. For her mom. As soon as she’s better you’ll go. You’ll probably need to find a new place to squat at this point, but that’s fine. Better to keep on the move anyway. …You’ll miss this bathroom though, it’s a nice change from what you’re used to.

It’s a few minutes and a few bloody tissues before the bleed finally stops. Wad up tissues, wash hands, pray it doesn’t happen again. Resign yourself to the idea that it probably will. You close your eyes and try to relax, try get a sense of who this guest is. To your surprise they don’t seem to be _that_ into Ortega. That’s different.

You smooth down out the wrinkles in your blouse, straighten out your undershirt, make sure the sleeves are all the way down. Skirt, leggings, nothing’s showing. Tattoo or otherwise. It’s fine. You’re fine. You can do this. What are you worried about? You? You’re not worried about some random stranger. Don’t be crazy. You’re Sidestep. You can apparently force a swarm of millions of tiny nightmare robots to stop in their tracks. What do you have to be scared of?

Aside from everything.

Pep-talked failed, you frown at your reflection. Well, worse case there’s always running, you’re good at that you guess.

When you enter the living room, Ortega and her… friend stop their conversation to greet you. Ortega waving you over. They’re sitting on opposite couches, which you hadn’t expected. “Ari, this is Lucas, come say hi?” She indicates a spot on the same couch with her.

You take a seat, and eye Lucas. He smiles back. “Nice to meet you Ari, Julia was just telling me about you.” He leans forward extending a hand over the coffee table.

You shoot Ortega an alarmed glare. She raises her hands, “Only the good stuff.” That’s not reassuring.

You tentatively grasp his hand, giving it a limp shake and then pulling back before he try what he was thinking of doing. “…nice to meet you too, Lucas.” You lie, face warm.

“So how do you and Julia know each other?””

Again you glance at Ortega, “We’re uh… gym partners.” That’s… a certain flavor of truth. “How do you know Ortega?”

Lucas smiles, rubs the five o’clock shadow lining his jaw. “Oh you know how it is, One day you’re working your boring office job, then you’re screaming for you life, and then a woman that can shoot lighting sweeps you off your feet.” He laughs.

Ortega laughs too. “Sorry it didn’t work out.”

Lucas dismisses the apology with a wave of a hand. “It’s fine, that was no basis for a real relationship anyway.”

Ortega laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. You switch focus back and forth between the two. What the heck is going on here?

“Anyway, Julia was telling me you also play guitar?”

“WHAT.” You blurt out, alarm bells ringing in your head. “I never said that!”

“Weren’t you talking about needed to fix the strings or something?”

“I– uh–” You have to think about that, run backwards through the list of things you might have told Ortega. You can’t remember. “I– I, really _don’t_.” You shoot Ortega an angry glare. “I used to have this uh, bass guitar, but I never learned. I don’t have it anymore.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Lucas looks genuinely disappointed. He wanted to ask you something, it seems like. To join something…? Hah, well, _foiled_ bitch.

“Lucas here is trying to start a band,” Ortega cuts-in. “So I was trying to think… who do I know that does music…”

“I play piano usually.” Lucas smiles, looking sheepish with a quiet sort of pride you wouldn’t expect of someone friends with Ortega. “We’re still looking for a good lead singer and when I mentioned it to Julia she–“

Your eyes go wide. “I do not! At all!”

“Ari?” Ortega reaches a hand for you and you push it away.

“I– I– absolutely do not do anything uh, musical,” you lie. “I don’t know where Ortega got such a _ridiculous_ idea. Or what she was thinking just– just– just telling people that.” You don’t like the way Lucas is looking at you. The way he’s _thinking_ at you. It doesn’t make any sense. And now his thoughts are bubbling up with discordant notes as you flip out at Ortega and that’s even _worse_ and oh god oh jesus your heart is pounding – you hate this.

You get up, “I– I have to go…” You freeze up, go where? Go where Ari? “Uh– go outside for- for- for reasons.”

Behind you as you scramble, miss, grab, the balcony door handle, you can hear Lucas, voice lowered. “Hey, uh, sorry did I say something wrong? Should I go…?” You slide the door shut behind you before you can hear Ortega’s response. Let the glass muffle your embarrassment. Your can feel a sharp pain like a knife in your gut.

You want to slide down to the ground or pace or do something, but they’ll be able to see you through the blinds so you just stand there, arms crossed and glare into the distance. You can’t even try to hum something small to try and calm down because you just got finished explaining about how you absolutely don’t do that.

How does _Ortega_ know about that? People paying attention to you is dangerous. What if they start adding things up? _Are_ you mad at for paying attention? Or for springing it on you like this. Ortega doesn’t know anything that dangerous about you but– what she knows is because you chose to let her know it, what is she doing just… handing out things like that to other people.

And then–! And then!!! What the hell was was with the guy? What the hell was _he_ thinking? You clutch your head with shaking hands, pull at your face. Grab the balcony railing, lean on it hard and peer over the edge. There’s the press down there. Do they have cameras trained up here? Whatever. You don’t care right now. They can’t legally print any photos without explicit permission anyway. And -ha!- fat chance of that. You flip them the finger just in case.

You’re not sure how long you’re out here when you hear the door slide open and close behind you. “Lucas left, it’s… safe for you to come back inside if you want.” She sounds uncertain of herself. Good. Let her stew in it for a while. “How are you doing?” Ortega asks, putting a hand on your shoulder. You flinch at the contact but otherwise don’t acknowledge it.

“What does it look like?” you answer, not turning to face her.

“It looks like you’re really leaning on that railing there Ari.”

“Am I?” you pull back on the railing, not letting go. Don’t let go. Hold yourself together. “S-sorry um… for ruining things for you back there.”

“Ruining things…?” Ortega sounds confused then groans. “Oh. You thought–? Oh no, _no_. I was hoping the two of you would hit it off. I even had him come here instead of doing like, a meet-up thing ‘cause I thought you’d be more comfortable that way.”

You tighten your grip on the railing. “What.”

“Well you just– I mean, well, I thought– And maybe then you wouldn’t seem so…”

You steal the quickest glance you can of Ortega standing next to you, her expression unreadable. What on earth is she talking about? Retreat to more comfortable territory. “You can be such an idiot at times, Sparkles.” You’re not sure _what_ she’s being an idiot about, but it’s a safe bet regardless.

That gets the expected frown. “That again?”

“Do you prefer old lady?” You lean forward, peering down the drop to the ground. Glance at her again. “Get that arm back in it’s sling, old woman.”

“You’re just merciless today, aren’t you.” She huffs but you can hear her shuffle around, complying. “Who really cares if it takes right at this point? PR?”

“Well, your mother for one.” You have to stop yourself from saying anything else.

“Mamá is obligated to by parental law.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, thinking. Finally, you admit: “I like her.”

“She certainly took to you fast. You better watch out. You’re going to get holiday cards for the rest of your life.”

That gets a laugh out of you. You pull back from the railing again, still holding. Turn your head to look at Ortega. She’s watching the sun bounce off the ocean in the far distance. The sky above hazy green under the curtain of smog. “Look. Really, I’m sorry for–”

“No don’t apologize. I got so wrapped up in making it this low stakes thing that I didn’t even ask–”

You cut her off. “I just… don’t like surprises.” Lean forward again, “But I didn’t need to–”

There’s a creaking noise and suddenly your lurching forward, too far forward, over the edge forward.

You hear Ortega next to you yell your name and there there’s a hand grabbing your upper arm, hard, pulling you back. The two of you stagger backwards for a couple of steps, safely away from the edge. “Fucking– I got you – got you.”

“Holy shit.” You whisper. You can feel your heart in your throat.

You have to force yourself to let go of the now-broken railing. It clatters to the floor at your feet. You try to laugh, feel your voice crack instead. “Well! Well!!! I guess– I guess I won’t be doing that again.”

“Dios mio, Ariadne Becker, you scared the hell out of me…” She doesn’t let go of your arm.


End file.
